No Guarantees, no Plan
by lost0and0found
Summary: While running for her life, district attorney Jean Folan finds herself in the company of some bravos and one Michael Scofield. The stranger she was supposed to prosecute seems to be the only one who can get them out of this alive.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer Note: Of course I do NOT own 'Prison Break' and I'm making no profit /excluding the moral satisfaction/ of writing and uploading the following fic.

Author's Note: Oh, and, for the uninitiated in the fic 'The Difference' by storytellers /preceding this one in time/, all you have to know is Michael has been frozen in cryogenic solution for twenty years, during which Bellick became Fox Rivers' new warden, and Sara, to all MiSa fans' terror, married a hunky doctor / with whom she's currently living happily ever after/.

Well, that's all you had to know to make the remotest sense reading the next story. As you can see, it ALMOST sticks to the original plotline of the TV series...

ENJOY;)

**'No Guarantees, no Plan'**

**Chapter 1**

**…_A life you would trade_**

_**For some dues still not paid…**_

_Fox River State Penitentiary_

_Joliet, Illinois_

'Prisoner ready?'

'Waiting down by the car, sir.'

'Good.' Director Bellick hung up, pressed his fingertips together and turned.

'Well, miss Folan, seems everything's ready.'

They shook hands, after which district attorney Folan stood up.

'And, miss...'

She turned at the door.

'Have mercy and let the bastard go... away – _far_ away... in Greenland, for example. Gonna spare me lots of future trouble.'

Jean Folan smiled with restraint.

'All it hangs on is the facts, warden, not my mercy. Have a nice day.'


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following. 

_'Have mercy and let the bastard go... away – far away... in Greenland, for example. Gonna spare me lots of future trouble.'_

_Jean Folan smiled with restraint._

_'All that hangs on is the facts, warden, not my mercy. Have a nice day.'_

**Chapter 2**

…_**A decision you made**_

_**And then called it your fate…**_

**18 hours earlier**

_State Court Hall_

_Chicago, Illinois_

'Find yourselves another per... Hey, don't you dare threaten me, you don't...'

She took a breath and before dumping, snapped:

'See you in court.'

Leaving the mobile on the marble raft before her, she looked at her own reflection in the mirror, slowly running a palm down its cold surface. Her eyes met their reflection. She smiled nervously at the absurd sight she was at the moment. Her lips slightly winced, but her face gradually worked into its normal color. The smile became true.

'Good, now. That's good.'

She turned on the faucet and steeped her hands.

_'See you in court.'_

_'Or maybe sooner, miss Folan.'_

'Damn them if they think that's gonna cow me.'

_

* * *

_

_Fox River State Penitentiary_

_Joliet, Illinois_

'Tomorrow's the day?'

Michael slowly turned his head to the top bunk.

'Yes, Barnie. Tomorrow's the day.'

Barnie was sitting, arms round his knees, looking at him with his eyes wide open.

'You nervous?'

Michael shot a glance at his cellmate, leaned against the wall and implicitly peered through the bars.

The other man leaned slightly forward, his eyes widening even more, making him look constantly astonished.

'You know what I've been dreaming of since the first day I got in?' A faint smile made its way on Barnie's lips. 'Getting out.' Obtaining a dreamy look, he lifted his palms before his face. 'Have you seen... have you seen when they scatter ashes in the movies? Ashes of dead people. Michael, I... I've been thinking.'

Michael raised his eyebrows, looking away from the bars for a moment .

'And?'

Outstretching his hands, Barnie made several semicircles in the air, resembling a flight.

'When I die, I wanna be incremated.'

He accompanied the movements with low whistling sounds which were most probably supposed to add to the sight.

Michael waited a few seconds but, as the air demonstration showed no signs of ending in the next couple of minutes, he approached the bunks.

'Barnie... _Barnie_.'

'Eh?' The man stopped swaying. His arms stood stretched aside, though. Michael took them, bending them back towards the man's body.

'You wanna fly. Be free. Right?'

'Oh, yes. Yes. _Yes_!'

Michael smiled and reached over to the metal raft below the mirror.

'Good.'


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

_'See you in court.'_

_'Or maybe sooner, miss Folan.'_

_'Damn them if they think that's gonna cow me.'_

**Chapter 3**

…_**A swift run on the blade,**_

_**Hoping it's not too late…**_

_Fox River State Penitentiary_

_Joliet, Illinois_

Michael waited for the guard to sign the papers. He took the folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and let hold. Folded by Barnie's trembling fingers, the origami figure fell straight towards the ground, but managed to catch the earliest gust of wind, lightly lifting upwards lightly.

Michael's eyes followed it in the air. The paper fly curved, describing a helix, after which scaled unimpeded over the wire-netting on top of Fox River's massive prison wall.

'What're ya smirking at there, Scofield! Get in and no surprises, got it?'

'No surprises. Got it, boss.'

The surroundings of Joliet swiftly disappeared behind the mini-bus's window, replaced by new vast moors covered with sprouting verdure and melting snow.

Michael's eyes drunk the sight in, the eyes of a man who'd spent twenty years in cryogenic solution plus three months without leaving Fox River's wire-netted, highly secured four hundred-meter yard.

The sudden whistle of the brakes tore him from the view, pitching him off the backseat.

A powerful crash followed, emptying his head from, if not else, any thoughts.

He opened his eyes and saw blurred, flickering dark brown linoleum. As he looked up, he saw the windows were flickering, too. On the ceiling.

Michael tossed his head and opened eyes again. Flicker, along with unfocused view, as if he were looking through a TV out of order.

He listened for a sound and as he didn't hear such /at least nothing, indicating somebody outside, eagerly awaiting him with a loaded submachine gun/, kicked the diagonally situated door above his head and got out of the upset van.

It was no more than a couple of minutes from the crash, as there were still steaming oddments around. He was feeling like run over by a truck.

Nearby the truck had stopped, along with a car.

Michael slowly went round the van and opened the driver's cabin. He was met by an unpleasant sight, resembling some of the most graphic episodes of 'E.R'.

The driver's extremities were outstretched, his head hanging aside like snapped of.

Taking in a breath, Michael drew the cuff keys out.

'Heard that?'

District attorney Folan turned back, trying to detect the source of the sudden noise.

'You better stay in, miss, till I see what's going on out there.'

The driver opened the door and came out of the van.

'Hey, everything allri...'

Short series of shots, after which the man dropped to the ground.

Jean bent low and crawled to the door. Another loud shot series. She covered head with her hands to keep from the flying glass.

Michael put the cuffs and the keys in his pocket.

As he heard the shots, he bent low and hid behind the upset van's roof.

'Hello? It's me. Sorry, boss, the idiot Niels hit the wrong van. No, we emptied two clips. If the bitch's still moving, we'll take care she's filled with enough lead so that… so that… No, boss. Right, boss. Yes, boss.'

Michael bent down and saw two pairs of black polished shoes heading ahead for the place they'd turned into an experimental shooting ground for the last couple of minutes.

He crawled forth as far as his hiding allowed him. The subject to the phone discussion dashed out of the perforated van, situated about thirty meters ahead, and was followed by a new fusillade.

'Niels, get the car!'

Michael saw the other man's outline darting by without seeing him, his mind apparently more devoted to the thought of lead fillings.

About twenty meters this way, there was a thin forest, in which the woman and her chaser were lost of sight. Michael looked around and then ran after them.

He scanned between the trees. Not that he had the remotest idea what to use against the burly fellow with the gun. A remark like 'hey yo, ya chase' would be hardly of any use. Meaning, of use lasting longer than two shots.

The car rushed out of the inside, carrying the hulk away on its hood.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

_About twenty meters this way, there was a thin forest, in which the woman and her chaser were lost of sight. Michael looked around and then ran after them._

**Chapter 4**

…_**A gambling stranger you met**_

_**When your life was the bet…**_

_Joliet's suburbs, Illinois_

Jean looked around briefly, trying to find her way in a direction opposite to the bang.

Somebody caught up with her and two bloody hands gagged her mouth.

'I won't hurt you. If I take my hands off, you won't scream, will you?'

She pressed her eyelids and slowly nodded. The hold loosened, letting go. As she turned back, she saw the man, looking back behind them over his shoulder.

'Scofield?!'

He turned.

'Yes?'

District attorney made an effort to decide if Scofield's characteristic had roughly overstated his intelligence or his brain was simply kept too busy by something else at the moment… something like, for example, how the hell you kill Big Bad Attorney without using cold steel or small arms, sparing Mrs. Burrows the defense speech this afternoon.

She sized him and, encouraged by the lack of evidence of brutal violence against attorneys in his report, started, stressing every word:

'What are you doing here?'

He gave a second glance back, after which dragged her forward.

'Gonna have this chat later. One of them will be here any mi... _now_!'

Pulling her to the ground, he lowered next to her. A new loud symphony flew above their heads, tearing slivers from the nearby trees.

'How did you manage to get them so pissed?'

She narrowed her eyes against his, rubbing her left elbow.

'Do something like that without warning me one more time and you'll know.'

'I warn you.'

Before she could object, they were running among the trees, followed by new flood of splinters and lead.

In a couple of minutes they stopped, breathing in from the cold April air with difficulty.

The car jumped out of the trees and stopped a meter from them.

'Walk behind me,' Michael whispered.

'Get away.'

'Wish I could.'

A brunette, dressed in something resembling a sniper kit, stepped out of the car. The traces of the hit stinker, the one with the lead fillings, could still be seen on the hood.

'Get in.'

As no answer followed, neither a reaction; even the birds seemed to have fallen silent for an instant, the woman waved her left hand in an urging gesture.

'C'mon, birdies, or Big Bad Daddy's gonna come and... LIE DOWN!!!'

The second car stopped about ten meters away and while the stranger and Niels were exchanging cartridge-clip civilities, Michael and Jean crawled to the backseat of the vehicle. Despite looking much more like something for scrap than a powerful rescue car, the wreck turned out to be far quicker than expected, carrying them away with some precedence over the other one.

* * *

The car got to the interstate road where it turned off and stopped. The woman turned to the two on the backseat:

'Well, here our ways split. Here you'll be safe.'

She stretched her right hand and waved it before them.

'Here?'

'Yeah.'

'On the interstate.'

'No.' Michael opened the map she'd handed him and pointed a marked lot. 'Here.'

'Stay there till we send someone to take you. See ya.'

She got out, tossing the car keys in Jean's lap.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

'_I won't hurt you. If I take my hands off, you won't scream, will you?'_

'_Scofield?!'_

**Chapter 5**

…_**A belief that you had**_

_**In the chances you get…**_

_Interstate Road, Illinois_

'Wait, where are you driving?'

'The address on the map is…'

Michael shook his head skeptically and glanced out through the side window.

'_What?!'_ Jean gave him a brief stare after which focused back on the road.

'Nothing.'

'Excuse me?'

'No…'

'I heard what you said.' She pulled the brakes, causing them both to draw semi-circles towards the windshield. 'And where do you suggest I hide from the next fusillade? The wood wasn't bristling with little secret thoroughfares to Disneyland, or I must've missed them while running for my life, what do you think?'

Michael slowly breathed in and out before answering.

'We don't know if we can trust her. How can you be sure that's not the address where your two… say, admirers, will be eagerly awaiting you?

'Have you read your record?'

Michael raised his eyebrows. He hadn't read his record. 'Armed robbery, breaking out of prison, truck with Panama authorities – plus frightening me out of my wits. That makes you a sadistic bastard with a criminal past and doesn't change the fact I'd be lying perforated like a pin-cushion if you hadn't dragged me along in that forest. Why should I possibly trust you?'

Michael didn't answer. Instead, he nodded as a sign of truce and leaned back.

Jean started the engine again.

'The colleague of 007 got us safe once. There's nothing for it but to hope she's willing to do it again.

Michael relaxed his eyelids, letting his eyes rest.

'Thanks for not screaming… before, I mean.'

'Do I look like an idiot? Who screams in the forest?'

He smiled.

'Michael, by the way.'

'Jean.'

* * *

_Detroit's Suburbs, Michigan_

They arrived late in the evening. The address tallied with the one over a two-floor house in Detroit's suburbs.

Inside it looked like an ordinary house, save for the fact ordinary closets didn't keep sniper kits, night-vision glasses, military, police, plumber etc. uniforms. Apparently the FBI or whomever the car belonged to had generously decided to place one of their cozy quarters at their disposal, all in the name of their precious safety.

'Ehm, I'll leave you change.'

Jean looked up.

'Change.'

She looked back at the pullover she had just taken off.

'I'm done.'

'I… I'll be downstairs.'

'And, Michael, it's called cotton top. Remaining in a top isn't change.'

'I'll be downstairs.'

Michael closed the door, sneaking hurriedly out of the room. He looked peculiarly tense, as if… well, there weren't exactly plenty of alternatives.

* * *

Jean turned again and opened her eyes, determinedly flinging the sheets aside.

She went downstairs, making a mental note the staircase, contrary to expectations, didn't squeak. Tiles, thank God, were a deadly enemy to horror movies' directors.

Being more incredulous than her, she expected Scofield to be snooping downstairs. However, she found him fast asleep, apparently undisturbed by visions of perforated attorneys and truck-run-over vans.

* * *

_Joliet's Suburbs, Illinois_

About five hundred kilometers away, in a thin forest in Joliet's surroundings, a squirrel was nibbling at a cone.

'Squirrel… Kiki… Here, here, girl… yeah, gnaw the damn rope… no, not my fingers… The hell with you, you stupid squirrel! When I get out of here, I'll… dammit! Niels!!! Hello… anybody hear me… hello…'


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

'_I'd be lying perforated like a pin-cushion if you hadn't dragged me along in that forest. Why should I possibly trust you?' _

'_Michael, by the way.'_

'_Jean.'_

**Chapter 6**

…_**An exception you made**_

_**With some principles you had laid…**_

_Detroit's Suburbs, Michigan_

'Hello?'

'Is that you, gorgeous?'

Michael looked around, the phone in his hand.

'Ehm...'

'Scofield, right?'

'Who is it?'

'Sally, sweetheart. Sally Hilton.'

'Sally.'

'Yes, peanut, I saved your life a couple of times yesterday. Can thank me later. So, here's the deal: you go where I tell you to go, after which we make a small cosy rendezvous tomorrow morning when we're gonna come take you.'

'Excuse me, but would you be kind enough to tell me who 'you' are and why some bravos are chasing us?'

'Why're you asking?'

'Oh, for no reason, just being curious. Well?'

'Might tell you sometime later, honey. For now, take the address down, will you?'

* * *

'Why am I starting to feel like a suitcase? Oh, right, must be because I've been jerked around for two days now, as if they can't find me a safe-keeping place.'

Michael took a sandwich with the steerfree hand and, before biting, said:

'When she comes tomorrow morning, I'll wring some explanation out.'

**

* * *

**

_Gates' Quarters_

_Toledo, Ohio_

'What's in?'

He turned towards Jean, who was standing armfolded before the open fridge. Was it possible that their chasers' evil plot included cruel and espcially painful deaths, caused by gastric ulcer?

'Semi-manufactured goods, butter and... that must've been mayonnaise once.'

It was possible.

Jean rolled her long hair in a bun and made herself a sandwich.

'D'you… n'rm'lly s've… str'ng'rs?'

Michael stopped spreading the slice and looked up.

'Come again?'

After finishing the sandwich, she repeated:

'Do you normally save strangers?'

He started chewing pensively and swallowed.

'No.'

Then he leaned forward, raising his eyebrows.

'I make an exception for blonde attorneys.'

'Spare it. If we live up to the trial, I won't let you get away with any bit.'

* * *

_Gates' Quarters_

_Toledo, Ohio_

'Hello?'

'Hello, attorney.'

Jean kept a breath and took a glance at the mobile. They were calling from her home number.

'Are you still there, sunshine?'

'Listen, you sucker, tell your short witted boss that before he's even pronounced laringectomy, I'll have torn his throat out and that we're gonna settle this argument in court where I'll make sure he gets a life sentence in the most nightmarish to short witted mob bosses clink, right?'

A short pause followed.

'I got nothing after 'sucker'. However, look, bitch, if you don't cooperate, next call's gonna be from the mobile of a friend, then – of a relative and...'

Jean dumped the phone, pulled out the card and put them in her handbag.

Then started pacing the room nervously. As that didn't help, she went into the kitchen and pulled the fridge door open.

'If they deal with the mafia, how do they make it through without chocolate desserts?'

'Using myonnaise, I s'ppose.'

She grabbed the knife from the table, pointing it forward.

'Easy.'

'The hell with you, Scofield!'

He spread his hands, taking a step back.

'Do you always stalk like that? You've shortened my life with at least ten years for the last two days.'

'Excuse me, but who were you expecting – Buddha?'

She gave him an irate stare, after which put the knife back on the table.

'Whatever. Some day you're gonna get the licking from somebody with faster reflexes than mine.'

Having said that, she turned and started reordering the jars over one of the fridge panels.

'Can't fall asleep, too?'

'To be more precise, I was, till the moment the 'sucking sucker, you sucker' shouts, coming from the next room, interfered. But the result is that I'm not sleeping, yeah. Everything allright?'

'The jackass called from my home. They got Loraine.'

'Oh… I'm sorry.'

She turned the jar with raspberry jam around in her hands and narrowed her eyes.

'I'll make the bastards pay for each hair from her fat body,' she said, pulling the jar right to the back of the panel.

Michael coughed tactfully.

'And Loraine is…'

'My cat… What's so _funny_?'

'Sorry, I just…'

'You really are a sadistic bastard, aren't you?'

He cut smiling and looked at her.

'Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, but I didn't exactly have the time to represent myself in a most favourable light. If I... disturb... you, I can sleep in the car.'

She granted him with a short stare, after which broke into laughter.

'Disturb me? The dearie you are? Don't worry about that, I don't consider you a ... threat.'

Dearie? Dearie?! They had called him a lot of names, but _dearie_?'

'Would you mind making yourself clear?'

'Well... I know you guys are touchy about that, but...'

'Yes?' he invited, stepping forward. He could feel where this conversation was going and the change of direction wasn't one of his liking. At all.

After a short pause, Jean shot the words out in a breath.

'I understand you love playing macho men, but you also have needs. Homosexuality is something regular in male prisons.'

'What?!'

'I'm just saying...'

'I can hear what you're saying. Wasn't I a sadistic bastard?'

She shrugged, showing clearly that the first didn't hinder the second.

'So, now I'm a homosexual sadistic bastard.'

'Look, I don't see why you get so pissed off about it.'

Michael continued between his teeth:

'I. Am. Not. Gay.'

Jean spread her arms as a sign of truce and turned to the fridge, devoting herself back to the jars.

'Whatever you say.'

Michael made two steps forward and pulled her back to the fridge door, leaning his elbows above her head.

'Hey, wha...'

In a while she felt her right hand squeezing the packet of butter and greasy.

'What the... That wasn't... an invitation... to prove... yourself...

He took hold of her shoulders and lead her backwards to the wall.

'Okay, then, you're not gay.'

'You always talking that much?'

'Yeah. Hey, is that a smiling face here?'

She pointed at one of the tattoos – a demon, killing an angel.

Michael drew back and gave her a stare, as to judge to what extent she had something against him not being gay. Then he bent back down.

'Yeah.'


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

_'Okay, then, you're not gay.' _

_'You always talking that much?'_

_'Yeah. Hey, is that a smiling __face here?'_

_Michael drew back and gave her a stare, as to judge to what extent she had something against him not being gay. Then he bent back down._

_'Yeah.'_

**Chapter 7**

…_**A farewell that you bade,**_

_**Leaving someone to wait…**_

_Gates' Quarters_

_Toledo, Ohio_

Michael opened his eyes and ran his thumb and forefinger down his eyelids.

Having dressed, he went into the kitchen.

'Can't we just go to the nearest police station and get some escort appointed? Hey, what has the fact I'm blonde got to do with the matter?! Sally!!!... Dammit.'

Jean hung up and cuffed against the table.

'I'll tear her hair out, once I get 'er. They couldn't come right now; they were having some 'bang-time with the bad guys'. She's completely insane. How long does she intend to hold us waiting here? And what's the difference between being their hostages or hers?'

'Life indices?'

'Who's asking you?! If she doesn't come in the next twelve hours, I'm going to Chicago where I'll stuff the assholes in a mouse hole, in a cat's toilet, in a tar swa...'

'I got the main point.'

She darted a look, after which turned, taking the phone to the neighboring room.

**

* * *

**

'This is it – I'm going back to Chicago, give me the keys.'

'Have a little patience.'

'I don't.'

Michael fastened his tie and got the edges of his coat smooth.

'Where're ya going?'

He avoided her look, took the car keys in one hand and a dark blue baseball hat – in the other.

'Won't bе long.'

'Hey, how come you can go out and I can't? I'm coming with you.'

'Look... Jean. However wild it may sound, you're not exactly the perfect image of crowd-melting, quiet and non-attention attracting company.

'Oh, my god.' She put her hand before her lips and stared at the floor, as if that was the first time she realized it. Then she folded her arms and looked him straight into the eyes. 'On the other hand, _you_ are the unrecognizability itself - you've decided on changing beyond recognition, dressing in an official suit and A BASEBALL HAT!!! I'm impressed.'

Michael sighed and put the hat on.

'Do you normally react so… emotionally?'

She held her look on him as he made his way to the door, and then turned.

'When they threaten my family and my fat cat – yes.'

His hand hesitated at the handle, but before he could answer anything, she'd left the room.

Michael opened the door and locked on leaving.

**

* * *

**

Jean turned the shower tap off and wrapped the towel round herself. A dull sound from the next room made her prick her ears. She didn't hear anything more, but dressed up quickly anyway and, towel in hand, went out of the bathroom.

'Scofield?'

Nothing.

'Michael, are you here?'

On the way she took the umbrella that was hung in the corridor, gripping firmly with both hands. Stepping silently, she opened the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

'_Scofield?'_

_Nothing._

'_Michael, are you here?'_

_On the way she took the umbrella that was hung in the corridor, gripping firmly with both hands. Stepping silently, she opened the door._

**Chapter 8**

…_**A reach from the shades**_

_**Where all fear fades…**_

_Gates' Quarters_

_Toledo, Ohio_

The room was bright – the lights turned on, the front door closed.

Lying on the floor, right from the front door, between the sofa and the window, was Michael.

Jean felt sharp pain in the nape and lost conscience.

* * *

As she opened her eyes again, blood was pumping in her ears, her whole body pulsing. She felt her arms tied behind the kitchen chair's back. 

'You okay, Jean?'

Jean raised her eyes. The face of the man twisted into a gloating smile, after which it obtained the old pseudo-caring look.

'Did Niels hit you too bad?'

She tried to answer, but her throat was dry. Moreover, her heart had plugged it up, pulsing and staying in the way of the air.

Internally Jean forced herself to keep cool. She took a glance at the sofa, behind which Michael's shoes peeped out, and looked away.

'What…' her voice drowned and she didn't finish.

'Are you scared, Jean.'

It wasn't a question. It was more of an inference.

His voice was sleek and self-content – as if he was playing the villain in a school play – he was terribly overacting.

'There's nothing to be scared of.'

He smiled and drew his face near hers.

'We'll take good care of you.'

Then drew off and slapped her.

'The way we did of your friend. Touching, isn't it?'

He folded his arms, imitating a warlike expression.

'I'll stuff the assholes into a mouse hole... I'm coming with you...'

Then bent again, smirking.

'You know what really moved me? He didn't go, Jean.' He blinked a centimeter from her eyes. She could smell his breath. It smelled of fruit-flavored drops. She felt sick. 'He came back for you.'

'Go to hell.'

He drew back, mimicking surprise.

'You shouldn't talk to me like this, you know that?'

The man lifted his arm and cracked her over the face. Jean coughed and didn't venture on looking right back at him. She felt sicker.

'Cuz' if someone's going somewhere that will be you, Jean.' He turned her head towards his. 'Look at me while I'm talking to you!'

His hand fastened round her neck.

'Laringecto... whatever, I looked it up.' The fingers tightened the grip. The room started to float before her eyes. Blood was pumping her head. 'If anyone's gonna have their throat torn out, that's you, attorney.'

Jean shut her eyes. Or the world shut before her eyes. Darkness. Lack of light. Lights out. Blood threatened to blow her head up. Her hands started to loosen. Her body was giving up, despite her will's attempts to defibrillate every muscle. A flash of terror, after which there would be nothing to be scared of.

* * *

Something attracted his attention, as he looked at the door. His hand drew off and life sucked back into her lungs. 

A short scrimmage, both men tumbling a couple of times, after which the better built of the two prevailed and managed to bang his opponent's head into the floor. He pulled his tie out from under the other's throat, tying it round his mouth. Taking a pair of cuffs out of his pocket, he twisted the other man's hand behind the waist, the other hand - under the thigh, cuffing them together after that. With two steps he got to Jean, went round the chair and untied her.

She moved eyes from the pair of shoes behind the sofa towards Michael's bare feet. Blood had dried over his nape and shirt collar but he didn't seem to have any other injuries.

There were a couple of cries outside, wail of a police siren.

'We have to go.'

He gripped her hand and led her to the back entrance.

They went out shortly before the firing. It would keep Niels and the rest who were guarding the entrance busy for at least fifteen minutes.

'Hi there.'

Sally was waiting at the back entrance. Her gun-free hand was bandaged up.

'You're clean, mousies. We're taking the helm from here.'

She made them a sign to move through the park and as they walked away, she got back in front of the house, reporting via the transmitter:

'They're out, Harry. Send someone to cover them.'

* * *

Jean pulled her hand out and slowed down. Her heart was beating in her ears; she was cold and was feeling a growing difficulty to move. 

The twilight was somewhat bluish. The moon, letting out faint rays between the trees, was the only source of light, only enough to hinder the gloom from glooming.

Michael also slowed down, waiting for her to catch up. As that didn't happen, he went back, stopping before her. 'Jean?'

She tried to talk, to move, but everything seemed too hard, as if someone had just cut her supply and any moment now her thoughts would also slow down and freeze. But that didn't happen. Her body was stiff but her thoughts were untidily darting and messing, looking for something familiar to grasp at.

'You okay, Jean?'

Michael sought her look but couldn't hold it. She didn't leave the impression she was seeing him at all.

He slowly breathed in and then out. Then bent towards her, reaching out his hand.

'Hit me.'

Nothing.

'Hit me, Jean. Come on, I know you can hear me. You'll help yourself… C'mon, hit me!'

Michael took a deep breath and pushed her back. He roughly pulled her to one side, and then shoved her shoulder to the other, raising his voice:

'Come on, Jean! You wanna do it – hit!'

He pushed her again, eventually getting some response. Jean pushed him in return and started hitting him.

'That's right, hit!'

She clenched her fists and started thumping his chest.

Slowly, her heart worked into its normal heartbeat. Blood stopped roaring in her ears and she heard Michael's voice, which had dropped low, close to whisper.

'Hit the hardest you can, Jean. It's all right.'

Soon she felt her hands weak and gradually stopped the cuffs.

'Good girl. It's all right. It's over.'

She closed her eyes and leaned forward on him.

'It's over. You're fine.'

Michael smoothed her hair and cocked his head so that he could hear her. The words sounded muted.

''m not.'

'You're not what, Rocky?'

'I'm not… fine… at all.'

She sniffed and went on:

'I'm not even… approximate function… of fine.'

He smiled.

'Never thought I'd be so glad to hear you talking.'

'…erk…'

'Sorry?'

'Jerk.'

'Yeah, talk to me, remind me – what bastard was I?...'


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

_'You know what really moved me? He didn't go, Jean. He came back for you.'_

_'You're clean, mousies. We're taking the helm from here.'_

'_Hit the hardest you can, Jean. It's all right.'_

**Chapter 9**

…_**A hand that you take,**_

_**Trusting this shelter's not fake…**_

_Sunstroke Motel_

_Toledo, Ohio_

She woke up a couple of hours later. It had to be late in the evening or really early in the morning as it was still dark.

She had no clear memory of getting to the motel room. No memory of talking to Michael, come to that.

Michael. She sat up in the bed and looked around. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw him lying on a blanket on the floor. Apparently, prison life established steady habits of deep sleep. One would think this guy had spent his whole day on the beach, smearing skinny backs with coco oil, not fighting enraged self-centered mafiosi.

She stood up and lay on the floor beside him.

* * *

'Hey.'

'Hey.'

'Ehm… feeling better?'

She leaned over her left elbow, giving him a narrow-eyed look.

Michael hesitated for a sec, after which granted her with a masterly trained 'with this look I can see you from a satellite' stare.

After short overwatching she tumbled over him, leaving him just enough air to mutter:

'Meaning 'yes', right…?'

Sometimes we need extreme situations to estimate the simple joys of life… and sex, of course. Sometimes it takes no more than a couple of looks, several motions to feel certain you got what you needed and weren't even been looking for in particular.

There are times when a few brief shared moments are enough to lend completeness and solidity to the joy of life… and everything else.

* * *

To Michael and Jean, it wasn't one of these times. 

'Dammit,' Jean, Michael and Sally mumbled almost simultaneously.

Jean rested beside him, both panting.

'Blast you, gophers; you haven't been kicking your heels, have you?'

Turning to Jean, she added:

'Next time I'm running away with Jack Rabbit from the bad guys.'

Michael reached out for his shirt and flung it on.

'Sally… what are you doing here?'

The woman made a careless gesture, as if she didn't have the remotest idea, after which folded arms.

'Coming to join in, what do you think?'

She gave them a stare, making note of the growing ill will in their eyes.

'Shall I go out and leave you finish?'

For a moment Michael stopped buttoning up and Jean folded arms, leaning forward:

'Will you?'

'Three minutes, bears. Then I want you in the car – fully dressed… That doesn't refer to him.'

Then she went out of the room, a triumphant expression on her face.

Jean flung her pullover on and exhaled loudly.

'I hate her.'

'Believe me, so do I.'


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer's Note: I do not own 'Prison Break' and I do not make any profit through the following.

'_Blast you, gophers; you haven't been kicking your heels, have you? I want you in the car – fully dressed… That doesn't refer to him.'_

'_I hate her.'_

'_Believe me, so do I.'_

**Chapter 10**

…_**Only one but the bait is**_

_**All the difference that it makes…**_

_Fox River State Penitentiary_

_Joliet, Illinois_

'Visitation, Scofield!'

Michael cut fraying a thoroughfare in the cell floor and waited for the door to slide open.

The guard stopped at the visitation room entrance, rapping a fist on his shoulder.

'She's bloody gorgeous, really. But I don't know how you keep tabs on her – dude, her mouth won't shut for a sec.'

Michael granted him with a silent glaze before going in. The hands in his pockets clenched in fists while he slowly skimmed through the tables.

'Here, pumpkin.'

He slowly exhaled and made his way to the table without taking a seat.

'What do you want?'

'Seize me and let's do it on the table.'

Michael kept his blue eyes on her.

'What about something I'm interested in?'

Sally sighed theatrically.

'What about a business offer?'

'I don't do it for money.'

'It's not about sex, beaver. I'm offering you a job.'

* * *

_State Court Hall_

_Chicago, Illinois_

'You okay?'

'Smashing.'

Lincoln's eyebrows rose but he providently spared any further questions, deciding he didn't have the least desire to experience the smash himself.

'… for the general welfare, I advise you not to take any further self-destroying actions, including gargling with legislation, criminal law or correctional services. If you need to spare somebody, start with me. Spare me any further contacts with your own personality on this side of the bench. Feel free to go.'

Michael stood up and nodded. Turning to his brother, he said:

'You owe me a drink.'

'You've got it.'

'Just give me a sec.'

He glanced at the back rows and made his way to one of the spectators to the trial.

'Hi.'

'Hi.'

'You didn't appear for the prosecution.'

'So I noticed.'

'I… I hoped you'd come. To visitation, I mean.'

Michael talked while intently watching the district attorney's expression. Her reaction, however, bore no more excitement than the one at listening to a seminar on dragonfly population in the surroundings of a sparsely populated Welsh county.

'Look, Jean, I wanted to…'

What did he want, actually? To give her promises? To take such out of her? Take permission to make her part of future plans? Have a talk? Or stay silent? It simply…

'…damn… say something.'

'It's far more exciting to watch you squirming.'

It simply…

Michael had never been in for simple things.

Locking fingers behind his nape, he rested his head and sat beside Jean.

Sentences like 'I say, we should try, shouldn't we', 'I'm yours; take me' and 'Hi… 'ts up' were too far from his style.

Observe her silently, his dove-colored eyes unblinkingly drilling hers, leaving the emotional part of the conversation to her. Start excusing for things she'd never think were his fault. That was too close to his style. And would've led him… nowhere, actually. Just the way it had always had.

While his brain was skimming through top ten dumb sentences, his vocal organs pronounced the one, exceeding all classifications.

'It's probably not the most seducing offer you've heard and you might as well kick my ass, but…'

She shook her head. Michael leaned elbows over his knees, locking his fingers together.

Like surviving after shark attack and then die from choking with a mackerel ossicle during the festive dinner party. Easy wasn't easy. What was hard… wasn't easy, either.

It didn't really matter how he'd go in for it, actually. According to iron manly logics, what mattered in that case was whether she took interest or she didn't. Whatever he said now, couldn't change it.

'You don't wanna have any relations to an inmate in Fox River.'

'No.'

He exhaled loudly, not finding what to say. Questions like 'you sure?' or 'Why, why? WHYYY?!' matched the upper classification perfectly.

Why should he have opened his mouth at all?

'It's just you aren't an inmate in Fox River anymore.'

Jean tapped him on the shoulder and stood up.

Michael looked up.

'Hey, does that mean I can ask you out?'

Jean rolled her eyes up.

'Yeah, I guess it does.'

He also stood up and caught up with her. He had tangibly stopped squirming.

'We're going out for a drink with my brother…'

**

* * *

**

**But I can't do this alone…**

_In a while your dreams will be worn._

_Will you still be a hero by then?_

**It's not about what has been done.**

**It's about what you can.**

_You score and it's still one to one._

_You can't always think a plan._

**I can do anything I've set my mind to – **

**I feel it in my bones.**

_Oh, really? You can pull all of your plans through?_

**Anything I've set my mind to.**

_You're hell of an optimist, man._

_And you may actually get me to believe you._

**Empty-handed, both we can. We can pull this through.**

_No guarantees, no plan._


End file.
